“They said Cuthbert Valentino was going to have her put down in the morning. What if his plans change and he comes early?”
“Who the fuck is Cuthbert Valentino?”
“I don’t know. Some cunt who kills cats.”
A staff member walked up on that beaut. She stared at us through the bars on the door and I made every effort in the world to look less like a hooligan. Trouble was, we werehooligans, born and bred, fresh from the road and stinking of smoke and petrol.
I nudged Rubi. “You’re up. Do that thing where you sound clever.”
“I am clever.”
“Civilisedand clever.”
“Mother ofDragons, I’m too emosh for that shit right now.”
“Boo, you don’t have a choice.”
The staff member opened the door.
Rubi took a breath and painted a winning smile on his face.
Ten minutes later, we walked out with a cat that was going to live out his days with us.
“He better be nicer than that hood rat Mateo has to deal with.”
“Wash your mouth out.” Rubi dug a small blanket from his saddle bag and draped it over the cat carrier. “Bruno is perfectly fucking regal, thank you very much.”
I wouldn’t know. I hadn’t seen this cat—our cat now, I supposed—since Locke had pulled him from the rubble of the demolished Valentino houseyears ago.He could’ve had three legs for all I knew. “We don’t have any stuff for him.”
“I know. I lied to the shelter people and said we had a house full of it, so we need to hit that big Tesco on the way home.”
MeaningIneeded to hit it while Rubi stayed with his new boyfriend, a bad idea for so many reasons, but our lives were full of them, and sometimes they panned out.
I sent Rubi home to get the cat—Bruno—settled and ventured into the biggest supermarket in the South West alone.
Overstimulation had always been a problem for me. Without supervision, and distraction of company, all the lights and sounds of a giant superstore got under my skin, awakening the lack of impulse control I’d nurtured a sedative habit to repress.
I had a list:
Food.
Shit litter.
Shit tray.
On my first go round, I found none of those things. I got a cat tree instead with mushroom-themed hide-outs and a bag of pick-and-mix. It took me a full half hour to gather what we actually needed, and then I rode home more precariously than Rubi had, but without regret.
His laughter made everything worth it. “He’s a hundred and five years old. He ain’t gonna climb that, Riv.”
“You climb it then.”
I dumped it all on the couch and looked around for the feline interloper who’d derailed our day. “Fuck me, he’s huge.”
“So they say.” Rubi grinned. “Maine coon, innit.”
“What?”
He repeated the words. I barely heard him as I took in the pointy-eared lion staring at me from behind the TV. He was tabby and gold with eyes like Viktor, in case we missed him too much when he was gone, and perched on the cabinet, he reached my shoulder.
